Thursday, March 13, 2008

I look at them and I think freaking ass waifs. They are young, probably under 20. One is chunkier than the other, in a jock-ish sort of way who always has an almost severe pony tail she sports. The other, the more slender and feminate, wears her hair in different hair do's depending on which machine she is working, so it ranges from drippy down to oh so thrown together in a pony tail bun-you know the kind, you start to make a bun and then pull a long tail out of its middle and leave it there.

These two can't exercise unless they share machines, and trade off while talking like idiots. If they were talking trash, maybe I would be mildly entertained. But they don't.

While the jock-ish one exercises with more vigor, the slender one prefers to twirl her hair between her fingers, because at this time she is not actually on a machine; she is usually near one or leaning on one, while she profers her pearls of wisdom or is receiving them from the jock-ish one.

They have the most annoying habit of stopping in the middle of using the machines to contemplate what jewel of information the other may have just imparted to them. They both do it; and they would do themselves much good if they could produce and process information that does not make them look up for a while and then roll their eyes trying to figure out what was just told to them.

So while this is all going on, it interrupts my routine because I cannot do the circuit in the order I would like. When I go out of order, then they end up going out of order and it goes on and on, with each of them following the other with hair twirling and in depth conversation only those two nitwits can sustain.

Earlier tonight, they became my workout buddies. They were everywhere, in unison. When they were not chatting with each other, one would work the machine and the other would stand guard like a moronic statuette with the blank stare.

Finally one of them realized the spinning class was starting without them.